I don’t remember, now, how I used to imagine my family in Cuba.
My parents were both born in Havana in the late 1920s, but I heard only a few stories from them about their childhoods. And since I barely met my own grandparents, let alone extended family, I had very little input in trying to visualize my past.
My father would speak of feeling like an immigrant in Cuba because his parents were both born in the Galicia province of Spain, and they seemed to associate mostly with the large Gallego community in their new land.
It was easy for me to imagine the arrival of my father’s family to Havana, especially since I had visited the birthplace of his parents in northwest Spain several times.
Thoughts about my mother’s family, however, were hazy.
Her mother’s side of the family seemed to have been a long time in Cuba. My mother enjoyed the chance to grandly pronounce the double last names of those Cuban-born grandparents, and she was able share with me some details and personal memories about the family members she encountered most often.
Yet, my mother was missing any specifics beyond the generation of people she had known.
Details about her father’s DeZaldo family – my maternal grandfather’s side – were even fuzzier.
My questions about this DeZaldo family were often answered by my mother with only wistful reveries of vague stories she had overheard, or about visiting relatives from elsewhere.
Little Adelita was the youngest cousin of her father’s DeZaldo family. She just didn’t remember those stories from before her time.
She had spent her early years often visiting the DeZaldo estate in the countryside of Havana, and she loved to reminisce with tales formed by her favorite childhood memories.
However, since she was the youngest cousin on her father’s side, my mother didn’t have many direct memories of her DeZaldo relatives, who were much older or who lived overseas.
I guess she just had never heard the stories of that family’s international travel adventures or exciting events from well before her time.
She did try to remember and share information with me, but I sensed that my mother’s recollections were sketchy.
She also had a propensity for coming up with answers or explanations that you knew were barely grounded in fact. Entertaining, yes, but my many questions about my extended family remained unanswered for years.
Adelita De Zaldo y Moré
Havana, circa 1951
My mother, Adela de Zaldo y Moré, was a charming character – expressive, warm-hearted, and simpática. She always left a pleasant impression on everyone she met.
And although she may not have had many details about her family, it is mostly because of her unique collection of stories – usually told with enthusiasm and a touch of drama – that I’ve always imagined Cuba to be elegant, strong-willed, earthy, and culturally diverse.
The stories she shared were simple – rich snapshots from her life growing up in Havana, without analysis of cause and effect. They described happy memories, and never communicated any sense loss or regret.
Those stories she offered were perfect for helping me create my own visions about a place and the people I had never known.
Now, I am imagining Cuba differently.
It’s an evolving view – adapting to new details and changed impressions. My perspective about my past is no longer the same.
And I keep noticing how I don’t quite remember how I pictured it all before – my close and distant family and the journeys of their lives.